Page 17 of The Wayward Sons & The Vampires of Fortune (The Wayward Sons #4)

I leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the coffee pot and willing it to brew faster. Fuck, I missed buying coffee. This waiting for shit to be ready wasn’t for me—not when I’d barely slept. Hell, I was tired of waiting overall.

Ryder was fine. Or at least as fine as he could be for a man sitting in an interrogation room with his hands cuffed to a table.

I wanted him out of there, but at least I knew he was safe.

We were just biding our time. Biding our time as a whole bunch of pieces were put on the board—whatever the hell that meant.

This plan of Sam’s was a little confusing.

Ryder as a serial killer. FBI agents. People from Chicago.

It all confused me. Maybe if he would’ve clued me in entirely, it wouldn’t have been so bad.

And why couldn’t I know everything? What the hell was that all about?

To be honest, everything about Sam was confusing. I wanted to hate him—to be pissed about the whole goddamn thing from start to finish—but I was having a real hard time with it. I hadn’t thought about Sam in years. Life with Ryder was good. Minus this whole being hunted by vampires thing obviously.

That initial surge of anger had faded fast. Maybe I just had too many other things to be angry about, or maybe I just couldn’t stay angry at him. Lord and Uriel knew that I couldn’t when we were young. And he’d done a lot of awful things while high that should’ve kept me mad at him.

“Morning,” Sam mumbled around a yawn as he came out of one of the bedrooms. Fuck, he looked good like that—all scruffy and relaxed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Yeah, there were a hell of a lot of confusing feelings where he was involved.

Was I a bad guy for being a little turned on and a bit interested in my ex-boyfriend at a time like this? I wanted to say no, but that shit was a little confusing too. Ryder was safe. There was an escape plan. We just had to buy some time. Wait it out.

And I was stuck waiting it out with Sam. Who looked really damn good first thing in the morning. Yeah, I had to stop thinking so hard about this shit. It was making my head spin.

“You have to turn it on, Gray,” he said. Reaching around me, he flipped a switch on the coffee pot, and I tensed at his presence invading my space. Fuck. His nearness set a spark of sensations off in my body—ones I didn’t need to be feeling.

“Yeah, well,” I sighed, “it ain’t like I got a whole lot of experience with fuckin’ coffee pots.”

When was the last time I used a coffee pot? I couldn’t think of a single time.

“You sleep okay?” he asked.

“ Eh .” I shrugged. “I’ll sleep better when he’s safe. You?”

“My daughter blew up her aunt’s gnome collection and had a meltdown at one am. Spent most of the night trying to smooth that one over.”

I blinked. His what? I knew I needed coffee but shit. Was my brain just plain making up things at this point? Had I heard him wrong?

“You have a kid?” I demanded.

“Five-year-old daughter.”

“You have a kid?” I repeated with disbelief. The idea of Sam as a dad wasn’t registering with me. Not one single fucking bit.

“Yeah.”

“You? A dad?”

“Yeah.” He laughed.

“Who the fuck let you be a dad?”

“That’d be my wife.”

“And your kid is blowin’ up gnomes?” Yeah, my brain was struggling with this one. “I have so many fuckin’ questions.”

“Witches don’t have a magic puberty like hunters do,” he explained. Oh, shit. “They’re born with their magic, which makes toddlerhood interesting. And while my wife had a coven, they’re not keen on me. Her mom didn’t like me. So, I’m winging it mostly.”

“Shit.” I whistled. “That’s some bullshit right there. That’ll test your goddamn sanity as a parent.”

“Well, she’s broken… like ten TVs at this point and blown up a few things. There was also the goat incident.”

“Goat incident?”

“And the elephants.”

“What the fuck?”

“We aren’t going to talk about the lion cubs.”

“Oh, your life sure as hell ain’t borin’, is it?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “No, it’s not. She’s a great kid, though.”

“She gets that shit from her mom, too, don’t she?” I teased.

“Damn straight, she does. She’s sure as hell not getting that from me,” he agreed with a grin. I fell silent as he picked two coffee cups off the counter and filled them to the brim with coffee. “I don’t have coffee creamer, and I’m not going out to buy you some, so black it is.”

“Ain’t a problem by me.” I took a long sip and promptly choked on it, the hot liquid burning my tongue and throat. I practically dropped the cup on the counter as I coughed my way through catching my breath.

“It’s hot, Gray!” Sam exclaimed. “Jesus Christ, some things never change.”

I wanted to protest but couldn’t.

“Do I need to blow on your food today too?” he continued to taunt. Fucker. “Put it in the goddamn fridge until it’s cool enough for you to eat.”

“Shut up,” I retorted hoarsely. “We ain’t spendin’ the day pokin’ fun at me.”

“I don’t know. It seems like a damn good way to spend the day,” Sam said. That smile of his grew wider, and I felt it in my core. “We have today and tomorrow. We have to fill the time doing something.”

An intrusive thought wove its way through my mind. It was just me and him—the two of us stuck in this godforsaken little house for days on end until more could happen. While it was probably a stupid idea, it sure as hell sounded more appealing than sitting around doing nothing.

And hotter.

I needed a distraction.

Sam was a sexy-as-fuck option to be my distraction.

I took the coffee from his hand and set it down behind him. I braced my hands on the counter, caging him in. His vibrant gaze held mine as I stared at him. Yeah, I could definitely think of a way or two that we could pass the time.

Leaning forward, I kissed him, taking one hell of a chance. He stilled as my lips touched his.

“Gray,” he murmured, “you have a partner.”

“What I have is an open relationship,” I whispered and kissed him again. This time, his mouth moved slowly against mine. Hesitant and unsure. “I can do whatever the hell I want. No issues.”

“Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Not a fuckin’ chance.” But I grinned. “But when the hell has that ever stopped us, pretty thing?”

Pretty thing had been what I called him for years. For whatever reason, he liked being called pretty. Nine times out of ten, it made him blush and turned him into putty in my hands.

I kissed him a third time, dragging my tongue over the seam of his lips.

The torturous little moan he let out shot straight to my already very aware dick.

Sam’s hand locked around my throat. The firm and controlling hold had my pulse spiking against his fingers.

With several quick steps, he walked me back into the fridge.

“I still don’t play nice, sunshine,” he said against my lips. Good.

“When the fuck did I say I wanted nice?” I asked. I didn’t want nice . I wanted destructively distracting. I wanted to use him and be used by him until I couldn’t think straight. That was easier than focusing on everything else going on.

His hand squeezed my throat a little tighter, and his mouth crashed into mine.